


Steady on the Wheel

by foursweaterests



Category: Vienna Teng Music
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foursweaterests/pseuds/foursweaterests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And you're thinking about clouds the color of fire / And the scent of an orange peel / The way Mt. Shasta explodes into windshield view / And your hands steady on the wheel - Shasta (Carrie's Song)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady on the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calenlily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calenlily/gifts).



> **A/N:** As you may have guessed, this is based off the song [Shasta (Carrie's Song)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fR7TJO11QM) by Vienna Teng.
> 
>  **Warning:** Teen pregnancy, abortion clinics, Christianity (do we warn for religion?) and waitressing. Please let me know if there are any other parts I should warn for.

It all starts with a poor little rich girl. Or maybe she’s a rich little poor girl. Maybe she grew up in a trailer park in Connecticut, or a mansion on Beacon Hill. Maybe it was Montana, or Alabama, or Washington state. That doesn't matter. What matters is that she had plans. More than dreams, she had plans. She was going to be a dancer.

She’s been dancing since she was a little girl, since she was a tiny thing, and all everyone’s ever said was “Oh, she’ll be a dancer one day.” It didn't matter if they were serious or not, if they were stroking her parents' egos or humoring her. She took that to heart. And she planned, and pushed, and worked accordingly.

Life doesn’t always go according to plan. Here, take this. Read it. Maybe you’ll learn something from her mistakes. Or maybe you’ll just roll your eyes at her and move on, forgetting that this was someone’s life. But you have to make the best situation with what you’re dealt, and this is absolutely someone who did.

***

  


10/17  
They kicked me out today. Well. They would have kicked me out if I hadn’t left. I couldn’t tell them, is the thing. I couldn’t face them and watch Mom do that slow blink and Dad shut down and walk away. So I took the college money and went west. Like that quote, “Go west, young man” or something but for a young woman. I guess that’s really what I am now. Like. ~~There’s no denying it.~~

 

10/18  
I found a Motel Six to stay at. I’ve turned off my cell phone and threw the SIM card out the window. Maybe it was overkill but it made me feel better. I’ve been reading, and it’s already got fingerprints. I don’t

All I can think about eating right now are pears and oranges. Isn’t that weird? I’ve always hated pears. The texture is just disgusting: gritty and mealy, almost. And I only eat oranges at Christmas. Even then, I really would rather have clementines. But green pears and this bag of oranges I got from this crappy rest stop on the side of the highway are the only thing I want, and the only thing I can stomach. They taste amazing now, strong and clean.

10/21  
This really isn’t even my fault. And I went to the clinic, I did all the right goddamn things. I’m supposed to be applying to _Juliard_ right now. I’m not supposed to be hiding in motels and using my college money for  anything **(here the paper was underscored three times, so hard the graphite broke through the page)** other than college.

It was that woman at the door. I don’t know why I took the pamphlet, and I haven’t read it since, but I can’t throw it away. It’s just sitting in my backseat, like Razzer used to sit on my shoulder and peck at my earrings. I can feel it there, all the time. And I can’t go back to the clinic.

If there’s love out there for both of us? I sure as hell don’t know where.

 

 **(The next three pages have been ripped out.)**

 

11/30  
It moved. I think it’s a she. I mean, I’m not sure, but I think so. She’s sure feisty.

 

12/25  
I found a job as a waitress. It’s not bad, but it pays the bills and for prenatals. It was surprisingly hard getting hired. Like, I really didn’t think it would be so hard. Fifteen places turned me down at first. Either experience is really important and I should have lied, or I interview like crap.

It might be the second one. I was not great company when I was first interviewing. But things are looking up! I have the job, and just got back from Joan’s for Christmas dinner, and she knit me a sweater. And a baby blanket, which I won’t really need for a while. I might actually pile it on my bed because it’s pretty cold and I can’t really afford to turn the heat up. It’s really pretty, though. It’s blue with purple striping. I haven’t told her it’s a girl yet, because she’s really traditional and I’m sure she’d do up everything in pink. I hate pink.

And I…well, I can’t dance right now. My center’s kind of off, but I’m helping at the local dance center, so that’s something. They’re making noises about needing someone for pay once the second semester starts up. I’m not getting my hopes up, though.

Um…I think that’s about it for now.

 **(Next to the entry is glued a bit of yarn, a blue that fades slowly to purple. It's a bit worn; it has clearly been stroked a number of times.)**

 

 **(Next is a glued-on picture of a sonogram, labeled with the date of 1/12. Due to fragility it was decided not to scan it.)**

 

2/3  
So, incredibly sore. It’s like there’s a freaking soccer ball inside me and she’s determined to score. It’s like she won’t stop trying for a _grande jeté_ , it’s like she’s looking for tumbling mats or using her umbilical cord as a hula hoop. It’s ridiculous. She’s practically punching holes in the apron I wear at work. I mean, it’s ugly, but wow, is this an extreme reaction.

 

2/15  
It is getting really hard to move around normally. She seems to be drifting a bit southward, but is still really active. The only thing that settles her is the drive to and from work. I’ve started driving more just to calm her down before I try and sleep. I found this one route that comes up over this ridge and has this incredible view of Mount Shasta. It’s so hard to describe. All of a sudden, she’s right there, covered in white and black and so sure of herself. She’s the same at night as she is during the day, with the light reaching down to touch her massive sides lightly, oh-so-lightly. Sometimes I park and wish I could dance right now. I keep cycling through songs I think would work for her, but I’m at a loss so far.

She likes Shasta, though. She stills. So much, in fact, that the first time I panicked and called Joan. She just laughed at me, which, after I got over being really annoyed, was actually really calming.

Dean said milk always helped Martha, but it doesn’t seem to do anything for us. Shasta and driving are my two best solutions. Joan’s just taken to mothering me to death.

It’s not terrible.

Okay, I love it.

 **(Next is another photograph, this one of a middle-aged man in a t-shirt, chef pants, and an apron with his arm around a young, pretty brunette who would be quite slim if it weren’t for the beach ball of a belly she’s sporting. They’re both grinning, and hugging an older woman in a waitress uniform, which matches the uniform the younger woman is wearing.)**

 

3/1  
Her name is Shasta. I was driving to work and right when I saw the lady, Shasta decided she was ready to make her appearance. I honestly don’t know why I was surprised.

She’s beautiful.

 **(The next few pages are full of pictures of a newborn blinking sleepily at the camera, with the brunette smiling only at her. On the back is printed: "Carrie and Shasta, aged 1 day".)**


End file.
